I just finished reading Writing Life Stories by Bill Roorbach. Of course, I’ll have more in What I Read in April blog later, but I was struck several things in Roorbach’s essay, On Apprenticeship in Writing Life Stories’ Appendix C.
Roorbach explains in a few paragraphs before the essay that since writing the essay the central anecdote has become a writer’s urban myth. (The anecdote has Roorbach at a party talking to a doctor. When Roorbach mentions he’s a writer, the doctor tells him she’s going to take six months off and write her story. Roorbach tells her he’s thinking of doing the same—taking six months off and becoming a doctor.) In truth, I’ve heard it many times and read the essay in 1994 when it was first published. I think the reason the anecdote sounds so familiar is writers hear something similar all the time.
As I read the essay this time it really touched a chord. Maybe because of the struggles I’ve had this last year or maybe, I just read it with less bitterness and more gratitude. Gratitude? Yes, see, I’m just happy to be writing. Funny, too, but I think because of that, the things I’m writing are better. Maybe, it just seems so.
Regardless I’m happier with what I’ve written lately and even better, I don’t have near as much angst biting at the nap of my neck. Writers have enough of that.
On Apprenticeship explains how little our culture values artistic apprenticeship, how little we appreciate the time, work and effort an artist puts into becoming skilled. (Even ourselves.) We get comments from well-meaning friends, relatives and acquaintances about how they should or would write a book, a poem, an essay if they had the time. I try not to be sensitive to this but can’t help but hear a little voice beneath the comments.
“Gosh-all-lightning, it’s can’t be that hard. Just sit down and write. Anyone can do it. If they have the time.” (The writer hears-Ok, I hear-the time you’ve spent and what do have you to show for it anyway?)
The worst part is they’re right. We all write lists, memos, notes, been writing since kindergarten, for Blue’s sake. And it’s true, as far as that goes. What is never mentioned, never valued is the work, the study, the practice, the rewrites and rewrites and yet another rewrite it takes to get to the point our writing might be publishable.
Most people see the difference between a fence painter and a portrait painter, but it’s hard to see the difference between writing that turns up as novels, poems and magazine articles and writing that Christmas letter.
I try never to respond other than to encourage when someone says they’re going to write a book, poem, essay when they have the time or next summer or whatever. How can you without sounding like you’re trying to rationalizing the time you spend writing. (Time, I might add, you probably had to steal, sneak or bargain for.) (If you boo hoo too much you get asked why do you write if it's that hard. For Blue's sake, if I could actually not write...well, there are times I wouldn't if I could help it. But you say you love it, that same someone says. Yes, I love it, but do you realize I can't ever get away from those voices, those stories and sometimes, often times, it can be exhausting.) In truth, any explanation is fruitless until and unless that person tries his own hand at writing a piece he wants to market.
Hey, often, we’re no kinder to ourselves. We have no patience with the time it takes to learn our craft. We sit down, write the piece, rewrite, edit, polish and send out our babies. When they come back rejected what do we do? Kick ourselves. Tell ourselves we’re never going to make it. We don’t have what it takes. We’re just wasting time.
Yeah, that’s one thing I’ve found. We writers are good enough at hurting ourselves. We don’t really need anyone else looking askance at us. We do it to ourselves well enough. We question our sanity, too, enough.
Well, that’s one thing I’m going to try to stop doing. I’m going to spend as much time and energy honoring my apprenticeship— the years, the workshops, the rejects as kicking myself. I’m going to be more patient with my learning curve and look at how far I’ve come, not how much farther I have to go.
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